


Top Seven

by highlightcity_159



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Book of Nile, F/M, I can't write a fic where he doesn't, The other's are mentioned but only in passing, and spicy at the end, it's a little graphic at one point, mostly though - Freeform, this is all just Booker waxing poetic about Nile, this is just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:34:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26484250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highlightcity_159/pseuds/highlightcity_159
Summary: Booker has a top seven list of his favorite Niles. The list is constantly changing because he loves every version of her.
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Nile Freeman
Comments: 20
Kudos: 184





	Top Seven

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a fluff piece for me to post while I work on my many WIPs. I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> There is a slightly graphic description of violence in this. Nothing too explicit so I didn't tag but if you want to avoid it stop reading at _"...hear a commotion in the front room."_ and pick back up at _"As Booker takes it all in..."_.

Booker has a running list of his favorite Nile’s. He keeps it at top seven, even though he loves every iteration of her. The top seven list is mostly for his own amusement. It was something he came up with during his exile after finishing reading a section of _Don Quixote_ aloud one evening. Nile had smiled up at him from her perch on the floor. She was leaning against his leg sketching while listening to him read. Their plans for her first day in Lyon sidelined because of rain. His heart had stopped at the sight of her smile and he’d had the brief thought, _I could love her_ , before he’d shaken his head trying to dislodge the traitorous thought from his mind. It was, of course, too late. The seed had already taken root. Probably long before it had birthed forth even that solitary thought.

At the time he was still a shell of a man, not yet sober and still weighed down by his grief and betrayal. Undeserving of even this simple visit. She had invited herself over for two weeks during her summer break away from the others and demanded he take her on a tour of the Loire Valley. It was a gift. One he had not earned nor did he deserve.

The list was born over those two weeks spent by Nile’s side. They spent every waking moment together. Nile dragging him along on her little adventures to the countryside. The order changes constantly because every time he’s sees her he’s reminded why he loves her. Now, many decades later, that they’re _BookerandNile_ he’s grateful for those two weeks. He had needed time to recover himself and figure out the kind of man he wanted to be. She needed time to liver her life. She was young and had so much to experience. But those weeks of companionship and all the times like it gave him hope. His list is a testament to that.

He is reading on the couch and looks up to find Nile snuggled up beside him, asleep. Her head lays atop her clasped hands and is pressed up against the arm of the couch, while her toes have worked their way under his thigh. He watches the way drool begins to pool on the pillow squished under her shoulder and decides that sleepy Nile is his favorite Nile. She is peaceful and loses the world-weariness she has acquired over the last century or so. He wishes she could be this peaceful always.

They are at the Metropolitan Museum of Art and she is in her element. They spend all day at the museum and he listens to her talk about the history, brushstrokes, and interpretations of different pieces, her love for art cross-cultural, across mediums, and boundless. She points to some Congolese textiles hung in the African Art wing and tells him every time her family had visited this section her mother would complain that they had better pieces hanging on the wall of their Chicago apartment. Then she’s dragging him to the American wing to stare at _Washington Crossing the Delaware_. She points out the black soldier in the lower left hand corner and tells him that first time she saw this painting her father had pointed out the young black man and told Nile about the complicated history of black Americans and the military. They continue onto the early 20th century art. She spends a long time looking at Rodin’s _Hand of God_. She loves Rodin because of the way he captures and shares such strong, raw emotions with the viewer. She says this while absentmindedly holding one of Booker’s hands in both of hers, running her long fingers over his own calloused ones. She manipulates his hand, holding it up to the piece to see if she can get the shape right. Her eyes glow and Booker thinks this Nile is his favorite; enthusiastic and passionate in her knowledge and love of art. He follows her through the rest of the museum helplessly lovesick.

He watches her laugh so hard she snorts soda straight out of her nose at a story Joe is telling at the dinner table. Her eyes streaming with tears as she coughs and laughs simultaneously, while Nicky pats her back and a frowns at Joe who is continuing his attempts to make Nile laugh despite the way she can barely catch a breath. He adjusts his list as he hands Nile a napkin from across the table and decide that this Nile is his favorite.

He, Joe, and Nicky are hanging suspended in the back room of a warehouse. They are quietly chatting amongst themselves awaiting rescue when they hear commotion in the front room. It’s the screaming that causes the three of them to exchange a glance. Quynh and Andy were supposed to be on vacation in Nepal but the sounds of destruction behind the door sounds eerily like them. When the door slams open, Nile stands before them like an avenging Angel, covered in blood and viscera. She is muttering angrily under her breath something about “inconsiderate kidnappers” and “it took all day to do my hair” as she unlocks from the chains they’re tied up in. She’s annoyed, that much Booker can tell, and gives them each an affectionate but distracted pat on the shoulder before making her way back out the room. They follow and Booker pauses at the amount of destruction Nile caused, single-handedly. He doesn’t feel guilty and know she doesn’t either for this group of child traffickers. She marches on ahead stopping sporadically to remove her throwing knives, a gift from Quynh, impeded in different body parts scattered across the room. As Booker takes it all he thinks, that this version, competent and full of restrained destruction, might be his favorite.

He stumbles downstairs to kitchen early one morning while the rest of the house is still asleep and finds Nile dancing around the room with her headphones on. She’s wearing her usual pajamas, a pair of sleep shorts and one of his t-shirts, as she flits around the room moving to the beat of whatever song is playing in her bluetooth headphones. He leans against the doorway and watches her as she makes breakfast. She’s mouthing along and shaking her hips, while using the spatula in her hand as a microphone. This is definitely his favorite Nile, dancing and happy and carefree. She spots him hovering and pulls him to her so the can dance together. He can’t hear the music but it doesn’t matter.

There’s this spark she gets when one of them mentions a story that she hasn’t heard yet or mentions something offhandedly that ignites the history enthusiast in her. It starts in her eye brows which jump excitedly at the mention of a new story for her to gobble up. She then starts pestering with words first and then by repeatedly tapping at shoulders or arms or legs until one of them gives in. She’ll sit avidly, almost without blinking as they tell the story. Interrupting to ask questions or clarify, until Andy (usually) gets annoyed and threatens to end the story then and there. Nile settles down and Booker can’t help but fall in love with her all over again at the enchanted way she’ll stare him at a particularly arresting point of the story almost as if to say, _Can you believe this?_ And he thinks to himself that this right here is his favorite Nile. 

At night he watches the curve of her neck as she undulates in his lap. He loves this position where her back is pressed up against knees while he lays prone beneath her, his hands anchored to hips. It feels like supplication and atonement, this worship at the altar of his goddess. He uses his hips and strong core to thrust into her watching sensation build as her movement becomes more erratic, staving off his own orgasm to ensure she reaches hers. Besides his nirvana is the whimper she makes as she shudders through her release, her eyes flutter closed as her left hand plucks harshly at a taught nipple heightening her euphoria. This, he decides, is his favorite Nile.

But his list will change again tomorrow. After all there is no version of this woman that he does not love. Maybe after a few thousand years, he’ll be able to make up his mind. He watches her warm smile and the impish glint in her eyes as she starts moving again, leaning down to kiss him as they flow seamlessly into round three and he decides he will gladly spend eternity discovering every facet of her.

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes:**
> 
> Sadly no need for me to exercise my French skills in this one.
> 
> I headcannon Nile as being half African (on her mom's side) and the line _"...they had better pieces hanging on the wall of their Chicago apartment."_ is 100% something my African parent says anytime we go to The Met.
> 
> Here are links to the pieces of art Nile refers to.  
>  _Washington Crossing the Delaware_ \- https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/11417
> 
> Congolese Double Prestige Panel - https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/318398
> 
>  _Hand of God_ \- https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/191046#:~:text=The%20Hand%20of%20God%20modeled%20ca.&text=Rodin%20presents%20the%20inchoate%20figures,the%20process%20of%20artistic%20creation.


End file.
